


the happiest prince in the world

by antikytheras



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Reincarnation, also oscar wilde is rolling in his grave, i don't like making people sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: At the end of a long, long journey, two days before winter's coldest night, a lost soul arrives at a large, magnificent castle.There is a man with long purple hair dressed in princely furs. More importantly, said man is standing over Raihan with tears shining in his impossibly-golden eyes.'Er, hello,' says Raihan awkwardly. 'Who are you?'‘You’re in the castle,’ breathes the strange man.‘Well, yes, and you’re drenching me.’
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 183





	the happiest prince in the world

At the end of a long, long journey, two days before winter's coldest night, a lost soul arrives at a large, magnificent castle.

The dragon studies the castle's walls. Though the sun is setting behind him, not a single flame stirs, not a whisper is to be heard. Yet, in the darkness of twilight, the castle itself glows strange-bright and blue.

It would not be polite or prudent to intrude upon the enchanted castle, but the dragon has journeyed for miles and miles, and he is weak and hungry and desperate. And so he enters through one of the many open windows.

A red ripple pulses through the castle's walls, but it is soon swallowed by the blue, and all is still once more.

The dragon sees none of this, for the inside of the castle is just like any other castle. And no castle is made to hold a dragon, so to wander its walls, he is forced to assume his human form.

But it is in this form that he feels the coldest. And so he thinks, 'I must find a place to sleep for the night.'

He walks the great, meandering hallways, his arms wrapped tight around him to preserve what little warmth he has.

Eventually he comes to a great set of doors that lead to a large, strangely-warm room. There is a great bed against the far wall, and a long-dead fireplace within another.

The dragon leaps forward and tests the firewood, breathing what little he can spare of his own heart-flame on the hearth. Soon enough, a crackling fire burns merrily, warming the stone-grey walls with its orange hues.

When he crashes into the bed, he is pleased to find that it is every bit as soft and inviting as it looks. He prepares to drift off to sleep, but just as he slips into the beginnings of a pleasant dream, something wet falls onto his face.

'How strange,' he thinks to himself. 'This castle must be very old, but not old enough to have leaks in the ceiling.'

Then another drop falls.

'What is the use of a soft bed if it will not keep me out of the elements?' he thinks crossly, rousing to search for another sleeping spot, perhaps right in front of the roaring hearth.

But before he can so much as move an inch toward the fire, a third drop falls, and he opens his eyes.

There is a man with long purple hair dressed in princely furs. More importantly, said man is standing over Raihan with tears shining in his impossibly-golden eyes.

'Er, hello,' says Raihan awkwardly. 'Who are you?'

‘You’re in the castle,’ breathes the strange man.

‘Well, yes, and you’re drenching me.’

‘No sorrow is allowed to enter this castle,’ the man continues. He’s still looking down at Raihan with those wide, broken eyes. In the warm glow of the fireplace, he looks utterly, wretchedly, wondrously beautiful.

This conversation is a little _too_ incoherent, even for Raihan. ‘Well, I was feeling pretty good about myself up to a little while ago, and you’re looking pretty sorrowful yourself.’

‘When I was alive and had a human heart, I did not know what tears were—’

Oh great, another one of those dramatic mortals. Raihan props himself up on his elbows and reaches out to awkwardly pat the man’s shoulder. He’s relieved to find his hand meeting solid flesh. ‘Okay, first off, _stop crying_ , _please_ —’ He hates it when they cry, never knows what to do with them.

‘Oh!’ the man blinks, then rubs at his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, where are my manners? Welcome to the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. I’m the Happy Prince.’

Raihan raises one eyebrow. ‘Are you, now?’

The man looks so very unhappy. Raihan almost feels a twinge of sympathy for him. Almost.

‘My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. But now, well…’

Raihan pities the man, and so he says, ‘I’m not about to call you Happy Prince, so why don’t you tell me what you call yourself?’

The man looks at him with sheer, desperate joy. ‘I’m Leon.’

‘Hi Leon, I’m Raihan. Is this your bed?’

Leon nods. ‘It was once, yes.’

‘Are you okay with me sleeping in your bed?’

‘Yes, of course, it is yours to—’

‘Good, because I’m _dying_ for a nap.’ And with that, he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

‘No,’ the man cries, ‘Raihan, please, will you do me a favour?’

Raihan sighs. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘There’s a village down the road,’ Leon says, and Raihan hates that he’s actually listening. ‘In a poor house, there is a thin, old seamstress embroidering flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next court-ball. In a bed at the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying.’

Raihan has always been far too benevolent for his own good. ‘And what do you want me to do about it?’

‘In the courtyard of this castle, there is a statue, gilded all over with leaves of fine gold, with two bright sapphires for eyes and a large red ruby in the sword-hilt.’

‘Tacky.’

‘Will you not bring her the ruby out of the sword-hilt? There are no longer any in this castle fit to behold the statue’s majesty, anyway.’

Raihan sits up and sighs again. ‘I have places to be, things to do—’

‘Please,’ begs the prince, ‘will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.’

‘I don’t _like_ boys, or any children, and I’m not particularly fond of mothers, either.’ But Leon looks so sad that Raihan immediately feels sorry for what he’s said. ‘Look, it’s deathly cold here, but I’ll stay with you for one night, alright? Where’d you say that statue was?’

Finally, there is peace in Leon’s golden eyes, and when he smiles at Raihan, he does so with his whole heart.

In his true form, the dragon descends to the courtyard, cold wind lashing at his tired, aching body.

True to the Happy Prince’s words, the ornate statue is located at the very heart of the castle’s snow-covered courtyard. It is a splendid statue, erected at the very top of an impossibly tall pedestal so that it may overlook all the towns and villages and cities below. But the dragon observes that beneath all the splendour, the heart of the statue is merely a great mass of lead.

‘What! Is he not solid gold?’ says the dragon to himself. He is too polite to make any remarks out loud, and certainly not to the Happy Prince’s face.

The dragon flies to the top of the pedestal, then assumes his human form, for it would be far too dangerous for him to attempt picking out the jewel without opposable thumbs.

When he approaches the statue, he has no choice but to step into a small puddle of water at its base to reach the figure’s sword. The ruby has frozen into place, so the dragon warms the sword-hilt with the last dregs of the ancient fire burning within his own body. Once the ice melts, the dragon picks out the ruby with great ease, then shifts back to his true form and flies away toward the village.

He flies high above the clouds, where the winds are unforgivably cold and no mortal can ever hope to catch a glance of him. On the way there, he swoops down to an unattended fruit orchard, taking only a single ripe orange with him.

At last, he comes to the poor house and looks in. Indeed, there is a boy tossing feverishly in bed, and a tired seamstress sleeping at her worktable. The dragon lays the great ruby and the average orange on the table beside the woman’s thimble. Then, he turns to the boy and circles gently over him, spinning faster and faster until the fever has left the boy and entered the dragon’s own heart-flame.

‘How cool I feel,’ mumbles the boy, delirious. ‘I must be getting better.’

And, he sinks into a delicious slumber and dreams of perfectly-ripe oranges.

Then the dragon flies back to the Happy Prince, and tells him what he has done.

‘You even brought him an orange?’ Leon looks starstruck.

Raihan shrugs. ‘It was just a pitstop on the way, nothing more. It is curious, though, I feel quite warm now, though it is so cold.’

They are both seated on the rug in front of the merry fireplace. Leon rests his head on Raihan’s shoulder, and Raihan allows it because he is a magnanimous god that doubles as a hot water bottle.

‘That is because you have done a good action,’ says Leon happily, snuggling closer.

‘Hm,’ Raihan says, and he says nothing more. The fireplace is warm, and so is he, and that is all he needs to drift off to the edge of sleep.

In the morning, when he wakes, he finds an ornate, red cape draped over his body. Leon must have covered him up the night before.

The fire still burns merrily, and he is still quite warm, so with a yawn, he tugs the cape off his shoulders and gets up.

‘Leon?’ he calls, poking his head down the hallway. ‘Where are the baths?’

There is no reply.

‘Leon?’ Raihan calls again.

Silence.

Something compels him to go to the courtyard, but it is so very cold that he goes with the prince’s cape wrapped tight around him.

Leon is standing before the golden statue, looking up with terror in his eyes.

‘The statue… its heart is warm,’ he breathes.

Raihan squints up at it. Indeed, though the rest of it is blanketed in ice, there is a suspicious lack of frost around the statue’s chest area. The sun is so-very-bright, and the snow blanketing the courtyard does little to help dissipate the sunlight.

‘That’s weird,’ he says. ‘Anyway, where are the baths?’

They do not remark on the tears trailing down the statue’s face, or on the puddle overflowing at his feet.

Leon brings him down many winding hallways to a small, cramped room. ‘This was once the servants’ quarters,’ he explains apologetically, ‘but their economy in size will make it much easier to heat both the room and the water.’

‘Good,’ says Raihan, already half-naked. He had stripped down to his underclothes while Leon was blabbering away.

‘Er,’ says Leon, politely averting his eyes.

‘Oh, don’t be such a prude,’ says Raihan irritably. ‘I’m not heating this icy slush twice, so get in the tub with me or take a bath in the snow.’

So, in a cramped, tiny bathtub made to contain one person at most, the prince and his uninvited guest enjoy a nice hot bath together.

‘This is the warmest I’ve ever been,’ says the prince.

Raihan snorts. In the cold of the room, it forms a tiny puff of steam. ‘Yeah? Getting naked with someone in an enclosed space tends to do that to you.’

Once the worst of the dirt and grime has been washed off them both, Leon produces a single large, fluffy towel from a cupboard overhead.

‘I am not used to having guests,’ says Leon apologetically.

Raihan towels off his hair, then quickly dries the rest of his body and hands the towel back to the prince. ‘It’s fine. You’ve already shown me more than enough hospitality.’

Once they’re both clothed and out in the cold, dark hallways of the castle once more, Raihan turns to Leon and says, ‘I think I’d like to explore the town.’

Leon’s smile falters. ‘Then I have one more favour to ask. Far away, beyond the village, within a city, there is a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. He is trying to finish a play for the director of the theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.’

‘Then I shall become your messenger once more, and stay with you one night longer,’ promises Raihan. ‘Shall I take him another ruby?’

‘Alas, I have no ruby now,’ says Leon sadly. ‘My eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.’

‘No,’ Raihan says blankly, horror pooling in the hollows of his stomach. ‘I cannot do that.’

‘My dear Raihan,’ says the prince with a wan, small smile, and a strange, low musical voice, ‘do as I command you.’

So, with his heart pounding in his ears, the dragon warms the left side of the statue’s face and plucks out the Happy Prince’s eye.

He flies away to the playwright’s garret. It is easy enough to get in, as there is a hole in a roof. Through this he darts, and he comes into the room. The young man has his head buried in his hands, so he does not hear the slithering of the dragon’s scales, and when he looks up he finds the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

‘I am beginning to be appreciated,’ he cries. ‘This is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play,’ and he looks quite happy.

With a heart so heavy it is a miracle he lifts himself off the ground, the dragon braves the winds and flies straight home.

‘Leon,’ is the first word Raihan breathes when he crashes through the window. He has so little strength left that he cannot complete his transformation, so his body is human but his wings are large and destroy much of the stone entrance.

The prince looks up, startled. Where his left eye once was, there is now only darkness and a single, eldritch flame.

‘Raihan! Are you all right?’ Leon asks, frantic. He rushes to the dragon’s side and, with hands so gentle it tears Raihan’s heart to pieces, carefully inspects the gashes in his torn, leathery wings.

‘Are _you_?’ the dragon demands, staring up at the prince’s eye. The fire is familiar; it waxes and wanes to the same ungodly beat that his own heart-flame dances to.

‘I am fine,’ assures Leon, and there is no pain, no sorrow in his words, so Raihan believes him. ‘But I will not force you to be my messenger any longer.’

‘No,’ Raihan growls, stubborn and proud, trying to pull himself off the cold, hard ground. ‘I will see this through to the very end.’

‘You will die,’ says Leon heatedly. ‘I cannot allow—'

‘I _am_ dying! I came here to die!’ shouts the cranky, lost, tired dragon. ‘It is _you_ who will not let me have my final rest, _you_ who have cursed me with something to live for only at the very end of my days. And so I will not allow _you_ to wither away in this cursed castle any longer, not when your spirit should be free to do as it pleases!’

They stare at each other, two ancient, broken souls that are now inexplicably tied to one another. There is no sorrow in their beings, for they had both lost the right to tragedy the moment they had entered the cursed castle’s walls.

Leon holds his gaze with the strength and grace befitting a fallen prince. ‘Are you sure?’

Raihan shelters them both with his torn, broken wings. The wind still passes through each and every gaping hole, but somehow, his slowly-freezing soul burns a little warmer.

‘You have my word.’

Leon’s voice takes on that strange, musical quality again, and Raihan is enthralled once more. ‘In the square below, just beyond the castle walls, there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.’

Raihan fights the spell, if only to say, ‘Then I will stay with you always, for that will render you quite blind.’

‘Raihan, Raihan, my dear, precious Raihan,’ says Leon quietly, leaning over to hold the dragon in his arms, tears falling from his one remaining eye to his beloved’s face, ‘do as I command you.’

So the dragon plucks out the Prince’s other eye, and darts down with it. He swoops past the match-girl, who claps her frozen hands with glee at the sight of a legend. He slips the jewel into the palm of her hand.

‘What a lovely bit of glass,’ cries the little girl, smiling up at the dragon. ‘Thank you, little dragon prince.’

And she runs home, laughing all the way.

Leon’s eyes now hold only darkness, and that single, golden flame flickers in each of those empty hollows.

‘Can you see?’ Raihan asks.

Leon closes his eyes and shakes his head.

So the dragon takes the blind prince by the hand and leads him to his bedroom.

The flame in the hearth flickers feverishly, but it still fights to keep the chill out of these four walls.

Raihan guides Leon under the soft covers, fluffing the pillows to perfection. Then, he takes a step back, and begins to walk away.

‘Where are you going?’ Leon asks, raw panic in his voice. ‘I cannot see behind me, I—'

Immediately, Raihan is at his side, rubbing circles into the back of his hand. ‘I am here,’ he promises, ‘and I will stay with you always. I’m just going to find something to wrap my wings with, that’s all.’

‘Two rooms down, in the third chest of drawers from the entrance, there are medical supplies in a box.’

‘Okay,’ Raihan says, ‘then I’ll be right back.’

He finds the dusty supplies exactly where the prince said they would be. Before the cold can take any more of him, he grabs the box and makes his way back to the only warm room in the entirety of the beautiful, cursed castle.

When he returns, Leon is curled up on his side, eyes closed in blissful slumber. There is truly no pain or sorrow on his face, only peace. Raihan wonders if this was how the prince used to be, wonders if he would have been sent here to burn his opulent castle to the ground as divine punishment, wonders if that would have been a kinder fate than this awful, twisted curse.

Wondering has always made him so very sleepy, but Raihan fights to stay awake and bandages his wounds the best he can. There is no saving the holes in the web of his wings, but he sets the bones in his skeletal appendages and allows the last embers of the heat burning within him to repair the splinters and cracks.

Then, he climbs into the warm, soft bed, and holds the happy prince in his arms while he drifts off to the furthest edge of slumber.

When they wake the next day, it is frightfully cold. The fire in the hearth is burning low, and the coldest night of the year looms ahead of them.

‘You should leave for the town,’ Leon murmurs, but his grip on Raihan’s hand is tight. ‘They will surely be able to care for your wounds there.’

Raihan is cold, so very, very cold. ‘I will stay with you always,’ he promises stubbornly, and he begins to tell stories of all he has seen in his travels.

He tells him of a kingdom in the sky, where great, winged creatures lived and breathed and died. He tells him of the marshes to the far west, where huge, decaying swamp-men guard a massive tree of life. He tells him of the darkness beneath the earth, where creatures like himself flit between shadow to shadow such that they travel across oceans and planets in naught but a single breath. He tells him of the god of the mountains on the moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal. He tells him of a great, old serpent, who has hired twenty priests to feed it honey-cakes for all eternity. He tells him of pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and who are always at war with the butterflies

‘Crafty, evil things, butterflies,’ Raihan adds, and Leon laughs.

‘My dear Raihan,’ he says, smiling, and the flame in Raihan’s heart burns out. ‘You tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of the people I can see for miles and miles. There is no mystery so great as misery. Fly over the city, my beloved dragon, and tell me what you see there.’

So the dragon flies over the great cities, and sees the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars sit at the gates. He flies into dark lanes, and sees the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys lie in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm.

‘How hungry we are!’ they say.

‘You must not lie here,’ shouts the watchman, and the boys wander out into the rain.

Then he flies back and tells the Prince what he has seen.

‘I am covered in fine gold,’ says the Prince, ‘you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.’

Leaf after leaf of fine gold the dragon picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of fine gold he brings to the poor, and the children’s faces grow rosier, and they laugh and play games in the street. ‘We have bread now!’ they cry.

Then the snow comes.

The dragon and his prince huddle under the blankets. The fire in the hearth has long burned out.

‘Raihan, Raihan, my dear, precious Raihan,’ murmurs the happy prince, ‘you have made me the happiest prince in the world.’

‘Good,’ says the dragon. The white sheets are soaked in his blood, which remains strangely-warm even though the castle is freezing to silver all around him. ‘I love you too. Will you let me kiss you?’

‘Yes.’

Raihan leans up to kiss Leon on the lips.

‘I will stay with you always,’ he promises, one last time, and then he closes his eyes and goes to his rest.

At that moment, from the statue in the courtyard, a curious crack sounds, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart has snapped right in two. It certainly is a dreadfully hard frost.

And so the prince and the dragon fade away, and all that is left is a wretchedly beautiful castle of ice.

_and then—_

Ten-year-old Leon scratches his head and looks to his Charmander.

‘I think we’re lost,’ he says solemnly.

Charmander somehow manages to give him a look that drips sarcasm and screams, _oh really?_

He looks at the map in his hands. ‘It doesn’t make sense! We left Postwick from here,’ he jabs one finger at the map his childhood friend Sonia had thoughtfully gifted him, ‘and we’ve been walking north for ages, so we should be at the next town by now.’

Charmander tugs at the fabric of Leon’s shorts, and Leon crouches down obligingly. His partner takes one look at the map and drags his paws down his face in obvious despair. His Charmander has always been startlingly communicative, but this is a little much.

Suddenly, his Pokémon runs off into the distance, and Leon has no choice but to follow after.

‘Hey, come back here, where are you— oof!’

He slams right into another person, bowling them over so they’re a tangled mess of limbs.

When they roll to a stop, Leon looks down and gulps. ‘Sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise, I was chasing my—’

_(something struggles beneath the surface.)_

The boy pinned beneath him looks up with wide, blue eyes. There’s something so familiar about him, and it nibbles away at the back of Leon’s mind, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

_(a faint memory, fighting to break the water’s tension—)_

The shock lasts only for a moment, then the boy beneath him is grinning widely. His teeth are very sharp. For some reason, Leon can’t stop thinking that he looks like a dragon, and he continues staring at his face while the boy says, ‘So that’s your Charmander? He’s pretty cute.’

Charmander puffs out his chest, and the fire at the end of his tail blazes. For a second, it almost looks golden in the sunlight.

_(an ancient flame, beating in both their hearts until the end of all time.)_

‘Yea! I’m gonna be the best trainer in Galar, which means he’s gonna be the cutest Charizard in the region.’

Charmander’s flame dies down. He looks unimpressed.

The boy, however, eats it right up. ‘Well, then you’re gonna need the greatest rival in the world, aren’t you? Wanna battle?’

Leon jumps off immediately. ‘Yes! Let’s— _ow!?_ ’

Charmander kicks him in the shin and continues running.

The other boy stares at the retreating Pokémon. ‘He’s… spirited.’

‘I’ll say,’ Leon sighs. ‘I really am sorry for knocking you over, though.’

The other boy stretches his arms behind the back of his head. ‘It’s no big deal, really. Say, what’s your name? I’m Raihan.’

_(he wants to remember. his beloved dragon had fought for his right to remember.)_

‘Raihan.’ The name rolls off his tongue easily. ‘Nice to meet you! I’m Leon.’

‘How’d you end up like this, anyway?’ Raihan asks. A Trapinch shyly approaches the boy from behind, then begins climbing him like an ant up a pole. Raihan doesn’t even react.

Leon stares. ‘Uh, I’m bad at directions, and I guess Charmander’s better at maps than I am?’

Raihan squints into the distance. ‘Well, it looks like he’s off to Motostoke’s Pokémon Center.’

The Trapinch arrives at Raihan’s shoulder, where it clings happily with a contented sigh.

‘Okay, cool! I’ll catch you around! You owe me a battle!’ Leon starts sprinting, but Raihan grabs his hand before he can go any further.

_(the memory is so close, just a little bit more and it can see the light of the stars once more—)_

They both stare at their intertwined fingers, then Raihan quickly pulls away. ‘Er. You’re going the wrong way.’

‘Huh?’

Raihan blinks at him slowly, like he’s waking from a dream. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘maybe it’d be better if I went with you.’

Leon scratches the back of his head sheepishly. ‘That’d be real helpful, but I don’t think you could stay by my side _always_ , you know?’

_(for a blessed, precious moment, the memory breaks the surface, but a great, blue light flashes, and it ebbs and fades away._

_no sorrow is allowed to enter their palace.)_

Raihan snorts. ‘Course not. But at least until you get to the next _town_ , yeah?’

Leon grins, and straightens the cap on his head. ‘Alright! And once Charmander’s not grumpy anymore, we’ll have a battle, just you and me.’

Trapinch starts to tremble, but Raihan pets its head soothingly. ‘Sure! Trapinch needs a little more practice on the field anyway.’

‘Okay! To Motostoke!’

And so they run, side by side, to a future without sorrows.

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by [the happy prince by oscar wilde](https://www.wilde-online.info/the-happy-prince.html)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/syorobao)


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